


Ocean

by unlitstars



Series: all those moonless nights [2]
Category: Magic Kaito, 名探偵コナン | Detective Conan | Case Closed
Genre: M/M, Ocean, Sea, love of the ocean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-26
Updated: 2019-05-26
Packaged: 2020-03-17 14:43:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18967342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unlitstars/pseuds/unlitstars
Summary: He’s always wanted to see the ocean.





	Ocean

He’s always wanted to see the ocean.

 

It started out as a little curiosity thing, just a spark of interest where apprehension should have been—but he’s always been different from everyone else. Where they were held back in fear in the face of the unknown, he approached with simple caution, eyes alight. 

They always said it would get him killed. He never listened.

His teacher warned them of the dangers of the sea, and the fierce, ferocious beauty of it all: how one touch could get you killed, how one step too far would sweep you away; a little droplet lost amidst the fury of the ocean. And how the ocean was never still, how beneath the stormy surface, there was a wonderland—a wonderland of fish and coral.

He paid no heed to her cautionary words, only to the awe that coloured her voice, and her smile when she spoke of the ocean. She loved it too, he could tell.

To his six year-old mind, there was nothing more beautiful than the ocean.

 

He’s grown, since then, acquaintances flowing into his life and then out like the ebbing of the tide, swept away by work and family and time.

“Sorry, I couldn’t make it—” they would all say, their voices mechanical, their eyes averted; an illusion of an apology. “There was something more important.”

He isn’t the most likeable, he knows; the stares have been more than enough. Every day— 

“—see? I told you he’s the son of—”

“—you’re right! That explains why he’s so—” 

Stare, point, laugh. He thinks he knows the routine by now. 

He’s never had many friends. He’s never had many people he could trust, either. It was in the job description when he first started out, but then he never read the fine print, never considered the toll on his personal relationships when he decided to follow his dreams—to become a detective.

Friendships drift apart, he knows, like autumn leaves in a still pond. They won’t always be there for him, they won’t always be there, waiting, waiting for a day that may never come. His anchors are not always infallible, unbreakable.

But when they did fail, he had nothing else to ground him but his love for the ocean.

 

He can’t breathe.

 

He hadn’t had much time to think; just swept up with everything that had become his life, completely lost. It wasn’t his fault— _ but maybe it  _ was—but he’d lied and lied and lied, over and over, until they couldn’t tell— _ and he couldn’t tell _ —which was a lie, and which was a truth, any more.

“What is the truth, but a lie agreed upon?” his father would ask, pen poised. “What is the truth, son?”

 

He chokes; he chokes with his dreams in his throat, he chokes with their names on his breath.

He can’t breathe.

 

He tried to find it; he really did. Chasing doggedly after murderers and a white-clad thief, eyes trained on truth, and not justice— _ why? _ —fighting,  _ fighting _ for what was right.

 

It’s supposed to be his last assignment.

 

He let them go. Had to learn to let them go, like the water that seeped through his closed hands, gone. He hid his pain behind a lie of a smile, mere raindrops in a facile ocean.

They would understand, he thought. One day, they would.

It took him years before he found him again, the only light in a dark storm. They were inseparable, after that. They’d both been through too much—some together, some apart—to not need someone they could rely on, someone they could trust with more than just their lives. 

It wasn’t fate—he wasn’t a romantic—but it was something close enough, close enough to a happy ending that he’d taken it, and taken it too far. He fell in love.

 

He’s so stupid.

 

He’d tried, again, to hide it; he didn’t want to lose someone else. He didn’t think he could take anyone else leaving him. He was in love, and he couldn’t have done anything worse.

But then he’d seen through it— _ of course, who was he talking about? _ —and he loved him back. He loved him back.

Maybe even a little more.

They forged forward, together, together in this world of prejudice. He could do anything, he felt, as long as he had his magician by his side. He was in love.

 

He can’t breathe.

 

But he never forgot his love for the ocean; its pain and turmoil resonated with his, with his magician’s. He could see the ocean reflected in his magician’s indigo eyes, every time he looked into them. He could see the waves of emotion, crashing and breaking, and the stars on its surface, twinkling.

He loved them both.

 

He can’t—it was supposed to be easy. Too easy.

One last case, one last murderer, one last  _ serial killer _ —and then he could go. He took the case.

She is smarter than they had given her credit for.

He sees the ocean one last time before he goes under.

It was beautiful, still, like watching his magician come home; glimmering blue-purple in the fire of the sunset, crashing and pushing and plunging until all he could hear was its sea-song in the pandemonium.

He can’t breathe, he can’t breathe. He can’t breathe with the force of the sea, flooding into his lungs with its fury. He can’t hear the wave-song above the panic in his own ears, or remember the sight that took his breath.

He wonders why the ocean he spent his lifetime loving is the one killing him.

She pressed his head into the water, harder—fueled with a desperate strength he doesn’t have.

He fights back; not against the ocean— _ never _ against the ocean—but against  _ her _ , against the hand holding him, a futile struggle that will only kill him faster.

She isn’t the only one with a family to return to.

He thinks about who he’s fighting for, just a flash of a familiar smile and laughing indigo eyes before it’s gone; he thinks about all the words he never said to him, all the little things he can never say out loud. He hopes he knows he loves him.

He knows. He’s not going to survive.

He isn’t going to live.

He doesn’t succumb, not exactly. He tries to hold on, hold onto what little he has left for as long as he can, but he’s failing. He’s failing again. He knows he can’t hold on much longer.

With a final effort, he struggles, trying to remember what it felt like to be breathing—to be alive. He can’t remember.

She forces his head down more.

He coughs. He can’t do anything but breathe in the ocean, with its trembling waters and broken waves. It’s painful. It’s so painful. 

But it’s far less painful than the ache in his heart or the knowledge in his mind.

He is going to die.

He’s a little scared.

He feels close—to the ocean, and to death with its open arms.

He tries to remember him, one last smile on his face, two last words he’ll never hear—“I’m home.” 

_ This is the end. _

He’s always wanted to see the ocean, he remembers.

And now, he thinks, a touch wistfully, that he can see it. All of it. All of it, for the first time. All of it and its raging beauty, his lungs half-full with it, an endless expanse of it around him.

And with the last of his consciousness, he can see why he’s always been in love with it.

He’d always wanted to see the ocean.

**Author's Note:**

> A big thank you to Se, my IRL friend for helping me get this all sorted (still wish you read the product though), and everyone else (Sh, A, and I) for reading through this at 1 a.m. in the morning multiple times and giving me feedback. Big thanks to Max on the Kaishin Discord for the last line.


End file.
